


Fallen Flower

by exchequered (kesterstjohn)



Category: Genji Monogatari | Tale of Genji - Murasaki Shikibu
Genre: Crying, Humiliation, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 22:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15058769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesterstjohn/pseuds/exchequered
Summary: He remembered counselling his ladies to be docile, to accept his love as a thing inevitable. How ironic it seemed now!





	Fallen Flower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cephalopod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cephalopod/gifts).



> Cephalopod, you asked for an OC to noncon Genji. I had someone specific in mind, but have kept him anonymous in the tags in an attempt to cast a Heian-type mystique over the whole business.

By now it was the eighth month, and the usual festivities commenced. Although he did not feel much like it, Genji attended a moon-viewing. Beside the water they composed poems, some heartfelt, others trite; but all agreed that Genji, though dressed informally in a cloak of dark blue silk over a robe of aster twill and gathered trousers of silver gauze, outshone the moon itself.

The Secretary Captain led the toasts, ‘Boundless grasses over the plain,’ and so on, and it seemed to those listening that his words took on particular poignancy. Not to be outdone, Koremitsu got to his feet and recited a verse of his own making, praising loyal companionship and true affection. Naturally enough, this brought to mind those who had departed, and soon the tears flowed as those present recalled their suffering due to their losses, none so more than Genji.

Still in pensive mood, he called for his carriage. The usual way being blocked that evening, he travelled a route not taken for many seasons. Peeking from behind the curtain, Genji recognised the place. How strange, he thought, to find myself here on such a night! Seized by the fancy to revisit the house where he had once been so happy for such a short time, he called on his servants to stop and gave orders that they should wait for him there quietly.

Dispensing with his retinue, he went on alone, quite unafraid. The moon was high and cast a bone-white light. The hems of his robe brushed against night-flowering blossoms, drenching the air with scent. Before him, the mansion was even more dilapidated than he recalled. It had been a few years since last he had passed this way, too heartsick even to turn his face in the same direction, but now it was time.

The sagebrush had grown wild, obscuring the path. Sedge had fallen from the roof. Vines crept beneath the veranda and curled through floorboards dulled with neglect, and though fireflies danced in a haze of light at his approach, as soon as Genji set foot within, all was darkness.

I wish I had brought a hand torch, he said out loud. His voice echoed through the empty rooms. Had he ordered them cleared of their furnishings? After all this time, he could not remember. But the blinds remained, no longer a fresh pale colour but grey and damp.

His heart was overflowing as he found himself now in this room, now in another. Memories spilled through him: Yugao, so sweet and pliant, too tender for this world. Though lowly, she had captivated him, held his attention despite the claims of others. Tears ran down his cheeks as he recalled her last moments. He hid his face in his patterned sleeve and begged that her spirit had found solace in the gifts he had given her.

A noise broke into his grief. Genji lifted his head and listened. Had he dispatched a yin-yang master to cleanse the mansion after her passing? He recalled the frightful dream of that night, the woman who sat beside his pillow and berated him for his hateful behaviour even as she shook the life from poor, timid Yugao. Surely he had had the rituals performed and the sutras read!

The creak of a floorboard. A shape flitting past the doorway. No ghost, this, but a living person. Genji laughed aloud in relief. Probably one of the servants, come with a message—his carriage was conspicuous, after all, and on this night there would be plenty of people awake who would wish to offer him hospitality. He started towards the door, his heart lighter at the prospect of company.

A violent push from behind sent him staggering. His court cap came off and was lost. He tripped over a trailing vine and sprawled to the floor. No longer polished smooth with peach pits, the wood was damp and rotten. Splinters caught on the fine gauze of his trousers and plucked at the beaten silk of his cloak. Too startled to cry out, Genji tried to turn over. But his garments hindered his movements, and when he reached out, he found not his attacker, but a curtain hanging ghost-like from its frame. He pulled, and the curtain came down on top of him, trapping him as neatly as a fish in a net.

Rough hands seized him, and he was muffled with his own cloak. Astonishment gave way to fear. Genji struggled, but his attempts to free himself only served to excite his captor. Darkness smothered him, panic swarming like butterflies. His breaths fluttered. He heard the snap and tear of cloth rending, felt himself dragged around the filthy floor. Genji fought, his hands encountering silk and hard flesh. His fingers curled to scratch, but his captor laughed, a low, bitter sound, and bound his wrists with silver gauze.

Not even a single line of poetry marked their joining. Genji thrashed about, all dignity quite forgotten. The violation was quick, as sudden as a summer rainstorm and just as furious. Genji gasped, humiliation burning hotter than the pain. He remembered counselling his ladies to be docile, to accept his love as a thing inevitable. How ironic it seemed now! But he did not learn from his own wisdom, and kept fighting, which only made his attacker angry.

He was hit across the face. Stars shattered his vision. He tasted blood. His head was full of the Blackness scent he favoured, but beneath it he could smell cold earth and the heat of another man. Harsh breathing punctuated each brutal thrust. Genji submitted.

It was over. Genji lay motionless in the ruin of his finery, terrified of what might happen next. He heard the susurrus of clothing, the hiss of cords re-tied, and then nothing. The man was looking down at him, perhaps admiring his handiwork. Then, to Genji’s surprise, his attacker nudged him with one booted foot. To see if he was conscious, perhaps. Genji shuddered at the thought of losing his wits in this place, but kept silent.

The man left. His footsteps pattered away. Genji remained still for some time longer, cataloguing the aches and pains both within and without. He pulled the cloak from his head and breathed deeply. His attacker’s scent stained his body. He lay in the darkness, ‘awake, asleep’ and for the rest of the night found himself ‘endlessly, endlessly, turning, tossing from side to side.’

At length, dawn rose. Light slid into the ruined mansion. Genji roused himself enough to unpick the knot of silver gauze that bound his wrists, then he laid out the evening’s finery and regarded it, crumpled, torn, and marked by the seed of his attacker. Shame beat in him. Genji gathered his clothes and dropped them into a hole in the floorboards, pushing them down until he could no longer see them. Then he walked unsteadily out of the house dressed only in his shift, with his hair loose.

Naturally the servants were shocked to see Genji thus, and would have set up a loud to-do had he not ordered them to silence. Fortunately it was too early for any of the good people to be abroad, and so his shame was contained, so he thought, to his closest retinue.

But when he returned home, a letter was waiting. Written on plain Michinoku paper and accompanied by a wilted evening face bloom, it read:

_Last night a tempest passed by;  
The flowers must have fallen._

The hand, though disguised, was one he recognised. At last Genji allowed his tears to flow. 


End file.
